Bereaved Parents Month 2026: Given a Chance, Life Grows Around Grief

When days become months and months become years it’s hard to explain to others how grief is both always present but not always in focus.

I’ve struggled to help those outside the loss community understand that the absolute weight of the burden is precisely the same as when it fell on me without warning that dark morning.

Dominic’s absence, if anything, has seeped into more places, changed more relationships and influences more choices than it did eleven years ago when I was only just beginning to comprehend what a world without him would look like.

But I, and my family, have continued to live.

We’ve added family members through marriage and birth. We’ve gone places, made memories and made career moves. We’ve gotten older. My husband retired. Children moved away.

All these things and more mean that life is simply bigger than it was when Dom left us.

I really like this graphic that puts this in perspective.

It’s a slow, gradual process. And for some hearts who are forced to endure multiple losses in a short time the circle may never get very large because the grief is so great.

I remember when I realized that sorrow was not ALL I felt nor Dominic’s absence ALL I saw. It was a bit frightening to be honest.

Did that mean my love for him was waning or that his importance in our family was forgotten? Was I a bad mother because I no longer cried every day for the child not here? Had my heart grown cold?

But then I realized none of those things were true. What allowed me to feel joy again, to participate fully in family outings or gatherings, to plan holidays and birthdays once more was instead that my heart had found a way to hold both sorrow and gladness at the same time.

There are still days when grief looms large and my world seems too small to contain it. But those don’t come as often as they once did.

Life will march on, regardless of how hard we might wish it wouldn’t.

And, in large measure, life after loss is what we choose to make of it.

I’m not abandoning Dom by embracing my life now.

In fact, I’m sure he’d approve.

Bereaved Parent Month 2026: How Grief Continues to Shape My Life

It would be lovely if life were neatly divided into seasons or sections.

But like so many things, there are no clean lines between now and what used to be.

Who I am today is shaped by who I was the day before.

I think that’s one of the things I enjoy most about fiction-authors are free to wander back and forth among character’s thoughts, past experiences and present reality.

It makes for a more complete story.

Each year about this time (in the waning days of my Season of Sorrow) I usually stop and take stock of how far I’ve come and how grief continues to shape my life.

There are many, many ways I’ve healed and am healing:

  • I no longer cry every day.
  • I feel true joy!
  • The pain of losing Dominic doesn’t dominate me although it plays like Background Music-not always demanding my attention.
  • I celebrate my family and my family’s milestones with genuine excitement and once again enjoy planning get togethers, birthdays and (most!) holidays.
  • I function at a higher level and am able to rejoin some groups and participate in some activities I just couldn’t manage in the early years.
  • I’ve made peace with the questions that won’t be answered this side of eternity.
  • I’ve incorporated traumatic loss into my understanding of Who God is and how He may work in world while accepting I don’t always like it.
  • I attend baby showers, weddings and even funerals without bringing all my lost dreams or personal sadness to the event.
  • I laugh-a lot. It feels good again to belly laugh at family memories or new jokes.
  • I can extend hospitality once more. That was a core component of my pre-loss life and personality and I missed it.

But there are many ways in which grief and loss continues to inform how I walk in the world:

I absolutely, positively cannot multitask! I have to break daily chores into single actions so I can focus and accomplish one thing at a time. I used to be able to cook, talk on the phone, bend over and motion to a child needing help with school all at once. Not anymore! Just recently I lost an important piece of mail most likely because I was looking at it while chatting to a family member. I put it down and cannot for the life of me remember where it is.

I become anxious when around too many people-especially if they are people I don’t know or the venue is one with which I’m unfamiliar. This even happens in the car driving in new places. I was never an anxious person before. In fact, I was typically the voice of calm in a group of friends panicking over some small detail that went awry. I try not to share my anxiety, but it’s there and it takes a huge amount of energy to corral it and keep it from escaping into wild demonstrations like running from a room. (I do a lot of counting/visualizing/breathing and self-soothing.)

I don’t like noise. To be fair, I never really did but now it’s exacerbated. Shopping can be a real trial when stores insist on blasting music in hopes it makes patrons feel like spending more money. I, for one, just want to get what’s on my list and get the heck out of Dodge! I love children but I can’t tolerate the incessant chatter little ones bring to a Sunday School classroom or a Vacation Bible School craft table. I used to be the first one to volunteer for those posts but I just. can’t. do. it. anymore.

I crave predictability. I know, I know, of all people I should understand control is an illusion. I do. But the tiny details of life-like planning meals, choosing clothes, cleaning routines and evening quiet times- are things I want to be able to count on. Routine is my friend. It helps my mind (such as it is) operate on reliable pathways. I’ve never been a big fan of random, but now it’s something I try to avoid at all costs.

I need solitude. I’m still processing some things. I imagine I’ll be doing that the rest of my life as different experiences from NOW interact with my loss. I cannot do that in the presence of others. I need to think, reflect, write, read and walk it out. That means I have to devote time and space to being alone. If circumstances prevent me from quiet solitude for too long my blood pressure climbs, my patience disappears and little things grow large.

I don’t sweat the small stuff (usually-see above!). If time, effort or money can remedy it then it’s just. not. a. problem. I’ve learned the hard way that life and love are the most important things in life. Everything else might be nice but it’s not essential. I’m not minimizing the stress and strain of broken pipes, wrecked cars or lost jobs. It’s just that eventually those are situations that can be fixed. And lest you think I’ve not experienced any of those, I have. My first thought whenever anything happens I once perceived as “the worst thing that could happen” is, “It’s absolutely, positively NOT the worst thing that can happen”.

I need to observe a careful rhythm of commitment and freedom on a daily, weekly and monthly basis. I always kept my big calendars each year and tossed them into a box of “if I ever need to know these things”. When I look back on how busy we were as a young family I’m astounded at the pace we kept, the places we went, the hours I was frantically working to fulfill all our obligations along with the things we just wanted to do. I’m sure some of this is a function of age-I’m no spring chicken any more-but I know in my bones it’s also a function of the ongoing toll grief takes on my body, mind and soul. I can only manage a few days of busyness in a row until I need a complete shut-down for at least twenty-four hours or more. I refuse to schedule any but the most difficult to get appointments in a week where I’ve already inked in other commitments.

Sleep, regular exercise and good food are necessary for me to face life with a good attitude. This is probably true of most folks but just a day or two of fast food, no outdoor walks or interrupted nights and I’m toast. I’m not a whole foods, organic everything kind of gal but I try to eat a variety of fresh and less-processed meals. When I’m home I have an almost two mile path through woods and up gentle inclines that builds muscle, exercises my lungs and body and gives me ample time to drink in the beauty of birds, wildflowers and leafy trees. If you’ve ever been to my home you know that the rest of the crowd can stay up as long as they want to but I’m headed upstairs between eight and nine. Of course I get up before the sun, so my total hours are roughly the same but there’s something about that pre-midnight sleep that restores me like no other.

I could probably list dozens more, less obvious, ways grief still shapes the me of today. But it no longer binds me like it did in the early days. I’m better able to work around the difficult bits and still make a meaningful life with the people I love.

But it’s Ok to not be OK some days.

Those days are fewer and farther between.

I’m very thankful for that. 

This Little Light of Mine: An Update From my Heart

When I started writing in this space over ten years ago, I never expected any but a few close friends and family to read my ramblings.

It was a complete surprise to realize my words struck a chord with a wider audience.

My corner of the Internet is still very small compared to today’s mega-influencer types, but it is near and dear to my heart and I want to give you an update on how life is going, where I feel the Lord is leading me and what I hope to do in the next few months.

As most of you know, my father suffered a significant stroke in mid-September, 2025. And as all my bereaved parent friends are aware, ANY new stressor is magnified by the grief we continue to carry regardless of how long it’s been since our child went to Heaven.

I was completely consumed with his care until mid-December when I was able to break away and be with my son and his family to welcome the birth of their third child, a little girl named Holly.

Sadly, her earthly sojourn was short and on January 4, 2026-just two weeks after her birth-Jesus welcomed her to Heaven.

Our hearts were devastated and broken.

I had only a couple of days home before I returned to my father who had to have eye surgery that turned into a five week ordeal when in order to save his lower left eyelid, his left eye was sown shut for over a month. Vision in his right eye had been cut in half by the stroke and further impacted by a cataract.

It was a tough time.

I won’t give you a blow-by-blow of the days and weeks since then except to say this: I have spent only thirty percent of nights in my own bed for eight months. For a homebody, this is HUGE.

Lately I haven’t been thriving.

So I’m employing all my creative energy in trying to figure out how to remain engaged with ministry (which is my heart) and still meet the needs of my hurting and healing family.

Which brings me to this update.

I think the best way to use whatever moments I can steal from overwhelming obligations is to comb the archives of the blog and try to assemble some printed resources. People have encouraged me to do this for years but I’ve never been willing or able to focus on the project when it was so much more exciting to to keep writing, sharing and having retreats.

I hope to keep showing up here when I can and giving myself permission to skip days when I can’t.

I would like to learn more about creating video resources (both short and longer format) to make material more accessible to more people.

The heartacheandhope.org website needs updating. I want to have a drop down menu highlighting not only my own content but that of other excellent ministries and individuals who can help bereaved parents steward their grief well.

Someone recently asked me the “why” of what I do and I replied:

I don’t want any bereaved parent sitting in darkness to feel like darkness is all there is.

My candle is small but even the smallest candle in the black night of child loss is enough to help guide a heart to hope.

My candle IS small.

It’s light has definitely diminished of late.

But it’s still lit and I’m determined to keep it that way as long as I can.

“How are you doing?” “Not as well as you might think.”

For over ten years this space has been a lifeline to me.

When I first started writing here it was, honestly, a way for me to express feelings and thoughts that were unwelcome in my social and personal circles.

I thought that if I wrote them down for the world to see, maybe some friends (and most especially) extended family, might read them and gain a bit of insight into the long, lonely road of grieving a child.

A couple of weeks ago I confessed that I didn’t have it in me anymore.

So many responded with kind comments and encouragement. Thank you, Thank. You. THANK YOU!

The break has been good in one respect-it gave me a little more freedom to just experience my life and less pressure to turn that experience into something I could share.

Here I sit, not on the DATE of Dominic’s running ahead, but on the DAY (the Saturday before Palm Sunday) of his running ahead and I am not really OK.

I feel like most of 2025 was like 2013-a year of promise.

The year before Dom went to Heaven, I turned 50. As an ardent student of Scripture, I had claimed that year as a Jubilee. All my children would be college graduates, one would be married and they were pursuing their own paths-each successful in their own way. I would finally be able to be more than a mother and free to follow my own ambitions.

April 12, 2014 changed that.

Last year also felt like a kind of freedom.

After over ten years of carrying this burden, I launched an official ministry and was doing things I had only previously dreamed of. Four amazing mom retreats, speaking engagements, book studies, monthly support meetings, the blog, sharing on podcasts and gaining additional credentials in grief counseling all meant I was beginning to live forward once again.

Then my dad had a devastating stroke.

I spent three months just trying to reach equilibrium for an almost 90 year old man who was way too involved in way too many things. If you haven’t had both the privilege and burden of caring for an aging parent, let me tell you it is so. much. more. than you can imagine. Even with every good intention and forethought, running two households is hard.

I had two days between leaving Papa’s home (praying the caregiver who was coming in three days a week would manage half of what I had when there 24/7) and heading to Texas for the too-early birth and ultimately tragically short life of my granddaughter, Holly.

Christmas was made jolly for the grandboys but the adults were just there for the show.

January 4, 2026 was the second day the earth stood still for our family.

Except that it doesn’t. The world keeps spinning and people keep going and somehow, miraculously, our broken hearts continue to beat.

I won’t type every event since then but suffice it to say nothing has slowed down, no provision has been made for deep rest, reflection and the silence that gives any of us the time to process loss and the questions it raises.

So here I am at the Saturday before Palm Sunday once again.

And I am not as well as I might have thought this far into the journey.

I’ve gained all the necessary tools to hold on and to make it to the next morning, trusting the sunrise to bring new mercy and trusting Jesus to help my heart.

But I’m exhausted.

I don’t want to discourage anyone who is earlier in this journey.

I am stronger and better able to carry the load-if I wasn’t, I would not have survived this past year of additional burdens. I only desire to be as honest as possible. so, honestly, today (and probably this entire week) I’m not feeling very strong.

Grief continues to shape who I am and how I interact with the world.

I can’t pretend it doesn’t.

Holidays 2025: Wife, Mother, Daughter, Sister, Friend

I’ve been stretched this year in ways I couldn’t have imagined.

Everyone I love has needed me-often at the same time and in disparate geographical locations.

I’ve learned the ins and outs of caregiving for a previously independent parent, navigated our complex healthcare system and traveled miles and miles in a dirt covered car because there is absolutely NO time to get it washed.

I’ve shoved grief down into an iron chest and screwed the lid on tight because I knew if I ever let it sneak out, I wouldn’t be able to get it back in.

The thing is, life goes on after child loss, with or without our permission. All the roles we filled BEFORE must still be filled. And I want to fill them.

But some days it would be lovely to have a break.

❤ Melanie

It would be helpful if the world could just stop for a day or a week (or a year!) when your heart is shattered by the news that one of the children you birthed into this world has suddenly left it.

But it doesn’t.

And immediately all the roles I have played for decades are overlaid by a new role:  bereaved mother.  Except instead of being definitive or even descriptive, this role is more like a foggy blanket that obscures and disorients me as I struggle to fulfill all the roles to which I’ve become accustomed.

Read the rest here: Wife, Mother, Daughter, Sister, Friend

Christmas 2025: Surviving Siblings and Christmas

I first shared this post in 2016 when we had muddled through the first two holiday seasons after Dominic left us and were headed for a third.

Now facing our twelfth, there are some things that have changed a lot (adding grandchildren and losing my mama) and some things that remain the same (the ongoing struggle to balance everyone’s needs and expectations with the reality of sorrow).

I still find the principles I outlined years ago to be the best way to approach the season. We certainly don’t always get it right but we continue to strive to honor one another, to honor the true meaning of Christmas and to honor Dominic.

❤  Melanie

How do I honor the child for whom memories are all I have and love well the children with whom I am still making memories?

That’s a question I ask myself often.

And it is especially difficult to answer for celebrations and holidays, special events and birthdays.

I’ve probably had it a bit easier than many bereaved parents.  

My children were all adults when Dominic left us for Heaven.

We have strong relationships and a track record of talking things through.  So I can ask them about what is helpful to them and tell them what is hard for me.  We all acknowledge that we are finding our way in the dark and that changing circumstances make it important to keep the lines of communication open.

We are experiencing our ninth set of holidays this year and have yet to establish a pattern or routine that works every time.

But here are some things we are learning together-some things my children are teaching me about surviving siblings and Christmas:

  • Parents shouldn’t try to hide their grief.  This one is hard.  As moms and dads we want so badly to create a safe world for our children-even our adult children!  Yet we know by painful experience that it is impossible.  When I try to hide my grief (which I cannot do successfully) I’m adding stress to an already stress-filled situation.  That grief is going to escape somewhere-if not in tears, then in raised voices, impatient looks and short tempers.  Children (even very young children) know that you are sad.  Let them know by your example that it’s OK to be sad.  Share your heart (in age-appropriate ways) and by doing so, give them permission to grieve as well.
  • Don’t force your child to grieve the same way you do.  Some children find it easier to be open about emotions than others.  The outward emotional expression of grief is different in each person.  For some it looks like what we expect: tears, sadness, sorrow. For others it may look like anger or denial or an unwavering commitment to “keep everything the same”.  Some children become very anxious about the safety of other family members. Some may remain stoic-don’t force emotional responses. Do some reading/research on grief in children and be prepared for the different ways a child may express their pain.
  • Ask you child(ren) how they feel about certain events/traditions/remembrance ideas. Even young children may have strong opinions about what feels good and what feels awful.  It’s tough to find a balance among competing needs but at least knowing how different family members are experiencing the holiday gives parents an idea of how it might be accomplished.  Sometimes surviving siblings can help parents find a creative solution to the quandary of how to honor the missing child and how to bless surviving children.
  • Don’t require that your child(ren) participate in every event or gathering. This is especially helpful for older children-but parents should be sensitive to the young ones as well.  Give your child(ren) permission to say, “no” if they don’t want to be part of a particular event. Some parents want to do balloon releases or light candles at a special service for their missing child. What’s healing for the parent may not be healing for a surviving sibling. That’s OK.  Do the same for family gatherings.  Don’t force a sibling to contribute a “favorite memory” or “story” during a family memorial time.
  • Grant space and remain flexible.  Things that sound like a good idea while still far off on the calendar can feel overwhelming as the day approaches.  Sometimes no matter how much I WANT to do something, I. just. can’t.  It’s the same for surviving siblings.  Be gracious and allow for changing feelings/circumstances.  They may truly wish they could commit or participate but realize that when the day is here, they just don’t have the emotional energy to do it.
  • On the other hand, be alert if a child withdraws completely.  Withdrawal may be a silent scream for help.  The pain may have become too great to process but the child doesn’t know how to ask for help.  You are the parent.  You can’t “fix” your child.  But you can take him or her by the hand and lead them to someone who can discern the best way to give them the skills to cope with the loss of their sibling.
  • Affirm your living child(ren).  Let them know that you love them in ways that are most meaningful to them.  Every person has a unique “love language”-a preferred way to be loved.  Learning what speaks to your child(ren)’s heart helps to ensure that they don’t feel forgotten or overlooked even as you grieve the child that is missing from your family circle.
  • Express appreciation for your child(ren)’s continued support for your own grief. My kids are a vital part of my grief support system-just as I am for them.  We all love Dominic and our hearts all hurt and miss him.  I am thankful every minute of every day that they listen to me, let me cry and love me through hard moments.
  • Understand that sometimes your surviving child(ren) might need to leave the missing sibling behind or set him or her aside for an event or celebration.  It’s hard to remain in the shadow of “the one gone before”.  They may not want that special day to be referenced as “so many days/months/years since we lost ______”.  Of course our mama or daddy hearts can’t help but think of it that way!  BUT-this is THEIR day, THEIR moment.  Let them have it.  It takes nothing away from your love for the missing child to affirm and lavish love on the child you can still hold.
  • Remember, that just like for you-each year may be different.  What works one time may not work this time.  Extend, and be willing to receive, grace  

I am trying hard to love and honor and support the children still with me and also make room for Dominic, who lives in our hearts.

It’s a delicate balancing act on a spiderweb of intersecting strings-I’m still learning and it’s hard.  

But love is ALWAYS worth the cost.

Advent 2025: The Light That Burst Through the Gloom

In our modern age of light switches and street lights it’s hard to imagine a world where the tiniest candle flame could lead a body to safety.

But for most of human history that was how people lived.

It’s how some still live.

So when John described Jesus as the “Light that bursts through gloom-the Light that darkness could not diminish” (John 1: 5 TPT) he’s really saying something.

This isn’t a tiny candle or smoky oil lamp barely pushing back the edges of inky night.

Jesus is a spotlight dispelling not only the experience of darkness but the power of darkness!

And that’s only a fraction of the truth revealed in these five verses.

In the very beginning the Living Expression was already there.

And the Living Expression was with God, yet fully God.

They were together-face-to-face, in the very beginning. And through his creative inspirations this Living Expression made all things, for nothing has existence apart from him!

Life came into being because of him, for his life is light for all humanity.

And this Living Expression is the Light that bursts through gloom-the Light that darkness could not diminish!John 1: 1-5 TPT

Jesus is co-equal with God. He has existed for eternity past along with the Father. They were, and are, in perfect community.

Face-to-face, cooperating in speaking life and light into existence.

No thing and no one draws breath apart from Christ.

In Him we live and move and have our being. Acts 17:28 | Good morning  girls, Inspirational scripture, Morning girl

That is why my heart can rest secure in the promise that the resurrection is coming.

If Jesus breathed life once into my son, He will most certainly breathe life once again into his glorified body.

So when the darkness threatens to consume me I light a candle.

I watch the flame and listen for my Shepherd King’s voice singing hope over my soul.

QUESTIONS:

  • Do you have personal experience of being lost in the dark? How did you find your way to safety?
  • When have you felt soul darkness? Could you hear or feel the Lord reaching out and reaching down to lead you to the Light of His love?
  • Why is it important to know that Jesus is eternally co-existent with the Father?
  • Does the fact that Christ is the creative force of the Godhead give you confidence in His promise to redeem and restore what the enemy has stolen?
  • How does the fact that Jesus is the Eternal and Inextinguishable Light help your heart hold onto hope?

PRAYER:

Lord,

I live in a world of uncertainty and often great pain. It’s easy for my heart to sink into despair. It’s hard to hold onto hope.

In the natural it feels like darkness is winning.

But I know, deep in my soul, that Your Light will conquer the darkness. In Your Presence there is no night-only, always, glorious Day.

Help me lean into this truth and hold onto hope.

Let the light, love and life of Christ dwell in me richly and spill over into a lost and lonely world.

Amen

Celebrating Life and Loss: Insights on Birthdays

Tomorrow I will be sixty-two years old.

When I celebrated my fiftieth, I had so many dreams and plans! I couldn’t have imagined that the next ten years would be filled with the heartache of child loss, along with all the hope and joy of an expanding family.

But here I am.

Definitely older and, I would like to think, a little wiser.

Wiser to the truth that no one escapes pain in this life. Wiser to the fact that joy and sorrow can coexist. Wise enough to know by experience that sometimes the very best thing you can do is shut your mouth and open your arms to a hurting heart. Wise enough to realize that birthdays for bereaved parents are often complicated.

I wrote this post several years ago but share it annually because unless you’ve sent a child ahead to Heaven, you might not realize how very tricky birthdays can be for the parents left behind.

❤  Melanie

Tomorrow is my birthday.

And while I am truly grateful for another trip around the sun, since Dominic left us it’s not a simple celebration of life lived and the hope of years to come.

The last birthday I had with an unbroken family circle was a lovely surprise party for my fiftieth held in Dom’s apartment.

Eleven years later and it seems a lifetime ago.

Read the rest here: Birthdays Are…Complicated

Life Happens

I know I’m not telling any of my regular readers anything new, but life keeps rolling on and the waves keep rolling in whether we grant permission or not!

A little over two weeks ago, on Sunday, September 14th, my father suffered a serious stroke.

I live four hours away and had asked a near neighbor to check on him because he didn’t seem ok when we talked that morning.

He was definitely NOT ok and this dear friend got him quickly to the hospital.

I was already on the road headed down to Florida when I received the call confirming it was a stroke.

My unbelievably vibrant, active, very involved nearly ninety year old dad suddenly couldn’t remember anything. He partially lost vision in his right eye.

His body is strong and able but his mind has betrayed him.

He often doesn’t remember his own name, much less mine. He can’t read. He can’t recall my mama.

Thankfully, he is able to navigate well enough within his own home to do necessary daily hygiene tasks like dressing and brushing his teeth.

It’s been an unbelievable and brutal change.

I’ve been here with him night and day since it happened-my own life suspended to handle the details of his.

Strangely, so many things I learned in the early days after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven have come in handy:

  • Boundaries
  • Setting priorities
  • Keeping things simple
  • Writing down EVERYTHING
  • Ignoring negative inputs and concentrating on the positive
  • Asking for help
  • Accepting help
  • Admitting when I’m overwhelmed

It’s going to be a long journey and one with a lot of tough terrain.

But something else I learned when Dom left us was this: God’s mercies are new every morning. It’s more than alright to admit defeat and go to bed, trusting the morning light to bring fresh hope and renewed strength.

My family has been amazing! The children have stepped up and filled gaps I could never fill on my own. My husband has graciously managed so many tasks I usually handle at home.

Friends have called, messaged and sent cards. (If you’d like to send one, you can find the address on my personal FB page.)

I’m not sure when I will be able to return here full time but hope to keep some posts coming.

In the meantime, may I ask for your prayers?

Specifically pray for:

  • Papa to regain as much function and memory as possible.
  • For all of us to be filled with grace and not with frustration.
  • For wisdom as I figure out how to manage two households and still make time for the beautiful blessings of children and grandchildren.
  • For me to develop a new rhythm respecting this new reality.

Thank you.

You are my most precious friends and most kind community.

I appreciate you. ❤

Lord, Make Me a Lighthouse!

There are two ways to deal with the scars pain leaves behind: try to cover them up or display them boldly.

Hiding seems the easier way so many times-because the scars are tender and the last thing I want is to invite more pain.  But it takes great effort and is rarely successful.

The edges peek out here and there and then I’m left awkwardly trying to explain how I got them and what they mean.

If I refuse to hide my scars and instead lay them open to the world, I am vulnerable, true. But I am also in a position to help others who are suffering the same pain that etched those scars in my heart.

business-authenticity

So I choose not to hide.  

I choose to be a lighthouse.  

Not because I think I can steer others clear of the rocks of loss and sorrow, but because I want them to know they are not alone.

the scars you share become lighthouses